Phosphorus
by GoddessOfApples
Summary: Sherlock and Molly have to save the wizarding world from its impending doom. A Sherlolly Potterlock Dæmon AU.
1. Chapter 1

**I've decided to do a little twist with this Potterlock and add another universe to it. So this story is a Sherlolly Potterlock Dæmon AU. I'm expecting about four or five chapters of this. Let's see how I manage.**

* * *

_"In elemental form, phosphorus is nasty stuff, even today its artillery and mortar shells are used in warfare with horrific results. But in the form of phosphates phosphorus is vital, and was for most of human history the limiting factor in the growth of food crops." (The Elements: A Visual Exploration of Every Known Atom in the Universe, Theodore Gray, 2007)_

_"Besides, the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are." (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, J. K. Rowling, 1999)_

* * *

"How did it go?" Molly asked, kneeling next to a corpse, scrunching her nose because of the vile smell it was emitting.

"Not good." Sherlock, who was crouched next to the pathologist, produced two napkins from his pocket and handed one to Molly, so that they could cover their faces.

"So you told him how you did it? How you survived the fall?"

He frowned. "Yes. Now thinking back I should probably have lied..."

Molly, holding the napkin in front of her mouth and nose with one hand, checked the body, sliding her fingers gently over his head to check for any injuries apart from the slit throat. "Time of death about eight in the morning, I'd say. Cause of death is bloodloss from the cut. No signs of a struggle - the attacker must have approached from the back. Had something very awfully smelling for lunch yesterday. Gosh it's making my head ache! Anything else you see, Pol?" The question was directed at her dæmon who was sitting on her shoulder, observing the body as well.

"No. I think there really isn't much to see here for us. But if you used your wand, like I've been telling you to, then we wouldn't have to feel this bloody stench," the large bumblebee answered and, feigning offence, he flew away to keep the feline, who was lying down with closed eyes next to Sherlock, company. The black jaguar opened one of her eyes when Apollon landed on her head and yawned widely, emitting a low growl from her throat.

Molly removed the napkin from her face and smiled at them. Turning back to Sherlock she said seriously: "I don't think lying would have done any good. Considering who he is most likely going to marry... I think you made her life a little easier by telling him that you're a wizard."

"Why so?"

"She's Mary Morstan."

"Oh. I forgot to ask the name."

"Well now you know. So if John plans on marrying a former Death Eater..."

He interfered. "A Death Eater who was in fact a spy to the Order, mustn't forget that part."

"Exactly. Then I think you were smoothing the road for her a bit." She punctuated her statement with a grin.

Sherlock huffed. "It didn't really help that he doesn't believe me."

Molly pouted for a bit. "Did you show him?"

"No. You know I don't use my wand when it isn't absolutely necessary."

"Neither do I. But I think a little demonstration wouldn't go in vain," she said, rising up from the ground, brushing the dust from her knees. She wanted to get away from the smell as fast as she could.

Sherlock pulled himself up as well and his dæmon rose to her paws next to him. "Perhaps you're right."

Lestrade made his way towards them, his German shepherd dog in tow. "You two finished?"

Molly was nervously fidgeting, like she was caught doing something she was not supposed to do, but Sherlock kept his cool and reported Molly's findings to Lestrade along with his deductions.

"...So I suggest you go find the secretary and ask her side of the story. Keep in mind she's very good with a knife."

Lestrade nodded and strode back to his car where a group of police officers were standing and gave his orders.

Sherlock looked back at Molly. "Shall we?"

"Oh yes! Yes of course. Let's go!"

They walked back on the main street and Sherlock was about to hail a cab when he was stopped by a peculiar looking man with a hen as his companion. Sherlock groaned and turned to him while Molly surveyed the situation curiously, Apollon back on his usual spot on her shoulder.

"Mr Holmes I need your help. It's my wife... She's been—"

The detective angrily stared at him. "I don't care. Call the aurors. I don't do wizard cases."

"Please, Mr Holmes. Just this once," the man, dressed in a flannel shirt, wellies and a pair of pink tracksuit bottoms, pleaded.

"No." Sherlock's voice was as firm as a rock.

Then his dæmon spoke with her quiet soothing voice. "Sherlock."

He stared at her with an exasperated expression. The dæmon looked back with his bright green eyes and there seemed to be a mental conversation between them. After a minute of glaring at each other Sherlock finally gave up.

"Fine. I'll take it. What's the problem?"

The strange man sighed out in relief. "Thank you Mr Holmes! How will I ever repa—"

"What's the problem?" Sherlock interrupted him, rolling his eyes.

"It's my wife. She's been killed in our home. But I can't call the aurors because it will look like I did it! We had a fight in public yesterday and well... It was about our son. He joined the new cult. We tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen. Then he got aggressive and attacked us so we let him go," the man told, waving his hands around, his chicken running around him in circles, earning many curious looks from the pedestrians walking by. "But Eleanor tried to contact him again. I'm afraid that our son killed her and it all looks like it's my fault!"

Sherlock frowned in confusion. "The new cult?"

Not believing his ears the man looked at the detective. "Haven't you heard of it, Mr Holmes? There is some man who claims to be the new You-Know-Who and he is collecting followers. New Death Eaters!"

His eyes rounded in surprise and Molly gasped. Sherlock's panther growled.

"How did we miss that?" Molly asked, voice high from shock. "How could we possibly have missed that?"

Sherlock put his head between his hands. "I don't know, Molly. It must have been kept from us. There's no other way."

The wizard looked back and forth between Sherlock and Molly. "Will you come now? Please!"

Sherlock nodded. He looked at Molly and sighed. "We have to apparate. Do you...?"

She shook her head sadly.

"Well then, Mr...?"

"Garrot, Mr Holmes. Alphard Garrot."

"Mr Garrot, where are we headed?"

* * *

With a quiet pop Sherlock, with his panther curled around his legs and Molly holding his arm tightly, apparated in front of a small cottage in what seemed to be a small and quiet wizard village, which hadn't seen any excitement for at least a hundred years. Slow old witches were walking their cats, loudly talking to each other (or themselves), nobody younger than forty could be seen.

It was most likely a village full of prejudice and old habits and traditions that die hard. Sherlock was sure that Alphard Garrot had pulled together all his will to forget his wizard pride to dress up in muggle clothes (albeit unsuccessfully) and go to the muggle London to find Sherlock.

Garrot was already there and ushered the detective and the pathologist inside the small (but presumably bigger on the inside) house as soon as they had recovered from the journey. Neither of them had apparated for a very long time.

In the (surprisingly large) green kitchen the most distinctive thing that caught the eye was the dead woman on the floor. She was facing the ceiling of the room, eyes wide open and a look of absolute fright on her face. It hadn't been a peaceful death, for sure.

While Molly and Sherlock were observing everything from the doorway, the panther slowly made her way to the woman and sniffed the air around her.

She spoke quietly, so that only Sherlock and Molly could hear her: "I smell alcohol very faintly. Someone third has been here. If it had been used to clean something, it would be stronger, but it isn't so I guess someone was here who had drunk it. The body has been here less than five hours and the scent is starting to fade. It's not Alphard Garrot."

Sherlock nodded to her and ran his fingers through the fur between her ears to show his gratitude. "Molly?"

She shrugged. "It's _Avada Kedavra_." She kneeled next to the body on the floor. "Light red marks on her wrists. She must have been grabbed by the killer and thrown on the floor. And then boom. Dead." Molly smiled. "No wonder I work with muggles, this is boring."

The ignored Mr Garrot stepped into the kitchen, not looking at his wife, with the intention to say a couple of very offending remarks to her. His hen pushed her breast forward.

"Ms I-don't-even-know-what-your-name-is... My wife was a respectable _pureblood_ woman and your kind of a dirty mudblood shouldn't even touch her, not to mention call her boring. How dare you?! How dare you to—"

Sherlock's dæmon smacked her paw right across the hen's face, hitting it against a cupboard.

Sherlock stood looming over Mr Garrot and painfully grabbed his shoulder. He then forced him to the corner of the kitchen and made him sit down on the floor. Molly's face was red with anger.

"Sit here and shut up. I'm going to call the aurors," Sherlock said and left the room, his panther in tow, who kept her eyes on the hen lying panicking on the floor until the last moment.

Molly rose and glared at Garrot. She stepped closer to him, Apollon ominously buzzing next to her. "This dirty mudblood here has finished eight years of muggle university with primary education from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm working as a pathologist in the most prestigious hospital in London. I can kill you in twenty three different nonmagical ways without getting caught by the police nor the aurors. What can you do, Mr Garrot? Wave your wand at me? I bet you don't even know what the Internet is. You're pathetic compared to muggles, you live in the Dark Ages. Now don't say another word in my proximity or I'll paint your house permanently neon pink. Understood?"

Already traumatized by the attack on his dæmon, he furiously nodded and wiped the tears that started to come into his eyes. He flinched when Sherlock returned to the kitchen.

"Give me your wand," he demanded, stretching out his hand, impatiently moving his fingers.

Garrot's hands immediately landed on his pocket in a protective manner. "Why do yo—"

Sherlock sighed. "Just give it to me."

Very reluctantly he handed his wand to the detective. Sherlock took it between his index and thumb, stepping away from the man on the floor, like he was disgusted by his presence.

Expecting the worst, Mr Garrot begged: "Please Mr Holmes. I didn't kill my wife. You have to believe me. Please."

Sherlock sneered. He lead Molly, who was still angry, away from him to speak with her quietly. "The aurors should be here any minute now." He sighed. "No matter how much I don't like that man, he didn't kill his wife. It was the son. And the aurors can prove it quite easily without my help."

Molly nodded. "What will we do about that new Death Eater thing? Why haven't we heard anything about it? None of my friends have told me a thing. And it's hardly something you leave unmentioned," she asked, huffing quietly.

"I don't know," Sherlock frowned, "and I don't like not knowing. After this thing here is settled, we'll go see Mycroft."

"At the ministry?" Molly raised her eyebrows.

"Hm. Yes. Won't be nice. I hope he has biscuits."

The woman let out a giggle. "Sorry. It's a crime scene. I shouldn't laugh," she apologized immediately, biting her lip.

Sherlock smirked. "I don't think she minds." He sent an emphasizing look to the corpse.

"I know. But he does." She nodded her head towards the crouching figure in the corner, who was begging for mercy from all the deities he could remember, thinking that he was doomed. "I rather hoped that this kind of an attitude amongst wizards had ended with that Voldemort thing but yeah... I guess it's a silly dream."

"One of the reasons why I don't take wizard cases anymore," Sherlock looked at the wand he was holding. "Their stupidity annoys me."

Their conversation was ended by loud pops outside the house when the aurors finally arrived. Sherlock made his way out to explain the situation to them, leaving Molly and Alphard Garrot alone with their dæmons again.

She smiled coldly to him. "You should be grateful," she said and walked out of the kitchen just before an intimidating tall dark auror entered the room and him and his wolf dæmon fixated their stares at him.

Outside a small blond woman, in a very eye-catching purple robe, and Sherlock were talking while her beautiful white cat calmly observed his jaguar. He gave Garrot's wand to her and she concluded, with the help of _Priori Incantatem_, that it was not the wand the kill curse had been cast with. She nodded to Sherlock in goodbye and gave a very toothy smile with a wink to Molly while passing her to enter the house.

Sherlock turned to her. "We can go now."

"Okay."

She stepped to him and took his arm. His dæmon curled herself carefully around Sherlock's legs, being very cautious not to accidentally touch Molly and with a pop they apparated to the Ministry of Magic with the goal to search for the truth from Mycroft Holmes.

* * *

**As always. Any feedback and constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms.**


	2. Chapter 2

A swoosh of wings greeted Molly when she stumbled out of one of the fireplaces that skirted the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. She fell into the lap of a young wizard whose eagle dæmon desperately tried to move away so that Molly wouldn't accidentally touch her. The dæmon turned into a kingfisher and tried to eat Apollon but the boy managed to catch her before she could snatch the bumblebee.

Molly's face was red as she tried to rise from the floor and help the boy up. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to... I couldn't see you! Oh I'm so so sorry!" she profusely apologized.

The wizard smiled and brushed some dust off his knees. "It's alright, miss," he said, while his dæmon (now a small lizard on the boy's shoulder) hissed, "accidents happen." He wished her a good day and dashed off to catch up with her mother who had been walking on without seeing anything that had happened.

Apollon was indignant. "Rude. Did you see her? Thinks she's so much better than everyone else with her fancy shape-changing," he huffed. "But let me tell you, girl. You won't be so happy about it in six years. We all settle down and grow some sense."

"Oh hush, Pol. It was our fault." Molly smiled at him, still red in the face. "Where's Sherlock, by the way?" She looked around, wondering where her companion had gone.

The aforementioned was striding along the crowded Atrium, his coat collar turned up, hands in his pockets and his jaguar trotting behind him — the image of cool. Molly straightened her coat and scarf, sighing in relief that he hadn't seen her dramatic entrance from the fireplace and quickly made her way in his direction, trying to catch up with his long steps. The crowd of people walking towards the golden gates in the end of the atrium set their own pace and Molly had difficulties getting past them to reach her destination.

"What's your hurry?" Apollon grumbled and moved his wings as fast as he could to keep up. Hearing that, the black panther stopped and waited for Molly and her dæmon to reach them. Sherlock didn't notice her stopping and walked on until he felt a painful grip in his chest that made him gasp out.

He wobbled a step back and turned to see Apollon sitting on his dæmon's head, like they both had grown used to, and a slightly breathless Molly next to them. Angrily Sherlock knelt next to them, grabbing the jaguar's face in his hand.

"If you ever do that again, I swear I will never take any case you want. Got it?" He looked straight into her big eyes, making sure that she took his words seriously. The dæmon growled silently and Sherlock rose. Almost unnoticeably he ran his fingers through the soft fur on her neck, letting her know that she was forgiven.

Then Sherlock looked at Molly. "Mycroft's office is on the first level. We need to get to the lifts." She nodded. Sherlock started walking with a slower pace to which Molly was grateful.

"Say... Don't we need to check in somewhere or...?" Molly asked, having very faint memories of her last time in the Ministry.

The detective laughed. "I don't care. They know who I am. And if they don't I can always whine to Mycroft."

They reached the elevators without any trouble by moving along with the crowd just before an almost empty lift started closing its golden grilles. Sherlock reached out his hand and they made it in. With a loud rumble the lift started moving. The couple of witches that were with them sent curious looks in their direction.

"Level seven," a soft feminine voice announced, "Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office."

* * *

A knock on the door sounded in the rhythm of The Imperial March and made Mycroft Holmes lift his head with a quiet groan.

"Come in," he called.

Sherlock's curly head poked in from the door and gave Mycroft a large grin.

"Hello, brother dear," he greeted him and stepped inside his office, Molly and their dæmons in tow, Molly quietly saying hello as well.

Mycroft closed his files and put them in his desk drawer. He leaned back in his chair, placing his fingers together under his jaw (it was obvious where Sherlock had got that habit). "Well this is extremely unexpected, Sherlock," he said, lifting his eyebrow. "I thought you'd never set your foot in here again but it seems I was mistaken. What's the matter?"

Sherlock's cheerful mask dropped and he stepped closer to where his brother was sitting, putting his hands heavily on the desk. "What have you been hiding from me?" His voice was quavering with barely withheld anger and his blue eyes were shooting daggers at the Ministry official who sat in his comfortable office chair, his raven dæmon a feet away on her perch.

Mycroft stayed impassive to Sherlock's emotional display, only frowned slightly. "Obviously you were not meant to find out about it. Some idiot must have blabbed it out..." Sherlock gave Molly an agreeing look.

He stood up straight, ruffling his curls. "Why was I not supposed to find out that the Dark Lord had returned? This does not make any sense to me!"

"And how come my friends didn't tell me anything about it?" Molly piped in. "We have an active correspondence. I'm sure something as noticeable as that wouldn't have been left unsaid..."

The eldest Holmes sighed. "Miss Hooper, you would have definitely told Sherlock about it so I simply had a couple of words with your friends. They were most cooperative, I can assure you." He gave her a cold smile.

"Why couldn't I find out about it?" Sherlock growled.

"Because now that you have the entire wizarding world is in danger of being revealed to muggles."

The room fell silent. Molly's eyes were wide open and Apollon's movements had halted midway, leaving a very comical impression. Sherlock's face told nothing, but his usually calm dæmon's face was now frowning deeply, trying to find any connections between Sherlock's unawareness and the safety of the wizarding world.

Mycroft waved to his dæmon. She took off and landed on the desk where Mycroft casually caressed his fingers over her head. He took her on his arm and rose to walk to the old wooden closet on his left. Opening the door, beautifully engraved with vines and flowers, Molly and Sherlock could immediately see a familiar stone bowl hiding away inside.

Sherlock broke the silence. "I didn't know you had a Pensieve."

"There are a lot of things you don't know, and shouldn't know, Sherlock. You chose a muggle life, for reasons I still don't understand. Don't expect me to tell you everything that happens in our world," Mycroft said and levitated the Pensieve out of the closet and on his desk.

"Well some things are worth mentioning. Especially things that concern me directly," the younger Holmes snapped. "Like oh I don't know... The Dark Lord returning?"

"The Dark Lord hasn't returned. We took care of him the last time. This person is someone new and someone significantly younger than Tom Riddle. And someone you both are quite familiar with."

He walked back to his chair and let his dæmon fly back on her perch when they were at a safe distance.

Molly frowned. "We know him?"

"It's a her," the raven spoke.

"Sophia..." Mycroft warned.

"They have a right to know, Mycroft. Sherlock is right. It concerns him directly." Sherlock gave him the 'I told you so' look.

He sighed. "The new Dark Lord is Irene Adler."

Sherlock paled and then blushed. His dæmon looked at the carpet on the floor. Some unwanted memories came flooding back to him.

Molly didn't notice Sherlock's uncomfortableness and asked: "Irene Adler from Slytherin? The one who thought it would be a fun idea to flush my books down the toilet?"

Mycroft gave her another cold smile. "I wouldn't know about your adventures at school, Miss Hooper, but Irene Adler was indeed in the house of Slytherin when you went to Hogwarts. But I'm sure Sherlock knows her more than just the girl who disliked muggleborns, am I right, brother?"

"This is not a topic I'm willing to bring up, Mycroft," Sherlock hissed.

"Enough about your problems in the past. This is right now. And the situation needs handling," Sophia cut in before things could turn into an argument.

Mycroft nodded and Sherlock just glared at him. The older Holmes took his wand and put the pointy tip to his temple. Pulling it away again it came together with a silver thread of memories. Carefully he tapped it inside the Pensieve. The liquid in the bowl started to swirl.

* * *

They were in Mycroft's office, in the same place but on a different day. The window behind the large oak desk showed a hurricane instead of the sunny dry afternoon it had been before they had entered the memory.

The chair, where previously had been sitting Mycroft Holmes, was now occupied by a gorgeous dark-haired woman. She looked very comfortable, her feet in five-inch black lacy heels were on the table as the slit in her red floor-length robe revealed just enough of her long slender legs.

The only thing Molly was able to think when she saw her was: "Hot damn!" Even Sherlock gulped audibly.

Irene Adler was alone in the office if you didn't count the arctic fox that crept under the desk. When Molly tore her eyes from the beautiful woman she noticed that neither her or Sherlock's dæmons were in the memory with them. "Interesting," she thought but left it at that.

The door opened and Mycroft stepped in, Sophia flying right beside him. Irene raised her head and took her feet from the desk.

"Mycroft," she said, purring almost like a cat, "how nice of you to come." She gave a grin, her red lipstick framing nicely her pearly white teeth.

Mycroft replied with a smile of his own. "It's not every day I am summoned to my own office, Miss Adler." He stood about three feet from her, understanding that his seat was taken. Sophia landed on his shoulder.

Irene laughed. Her sleepy-faced dæmon climbed into her lap and she ran her fingers trough his long white hair. "Well no matter how sad it might be, I didn't come to chat," she said with a playful pout.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure then?"

"I want to make a deal."

He raised his eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"Good," she smiled, "I'll get straight to the business then." Her fox jumped back on the ground as she rose and walked in front of Mycroft. The high heels allowed her to look straight into his eyes.

"Your brother is a nuisance," Irene said and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. The real Sherlock huffed in annoyance, making Molly bite back a smirk. The scene went on not minding any of the disturbance by the invisible audience.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "What has he done now?"

"Oh he hasn't done anything." Irene gently dragged one of her blood red nails over the man's cheek. "Not yet."

She stepped back from him, amused by his uncomfortableness, and sat on the desk. "You see... He has the habit of ruining plans. And I don't want my plan ruined. I'm sure you understand, yes?"

"So far, yes."

She laughed. "Well my plan here is a little bit more important and complex than new tax reforms or the test trials of the new floo powder. My plan is something I hope that you as a former Slytherin could sympathize with."

"Your talk does not head in that direction, I'm afraid, Miss Adler." There was a tone of warning in his voice. "Your latest activities have caught the eye of the Ministry. And if they continue we will be forced to take action."

"Oh Mycroft, did you really think I hadn't thought this over?"

"No," he admitted.

"Then you know what you must do. Squeeze shut that eye of the Ministry. And with that those gorgeous eyes of your little brother. I'd so hate to be interrupted."

"What makes you think I would do something like that?" he asked in disbelief.

Irene's smiling face turned serious. "You know me. You know my connections. A deal is two sided, isn't it? You'll do what I want and I... I won't make your biggest, most scariest nightmare come true."

"And what would that be?"

Her smile was back. "You know there are a lot of things some newspaper stories and public announcements by the right people could do... Like tell muggles about some hidden places in the world or some hidden people...?"

Mycroft's face was stern, his lips pressed together in a stormy expression. "You would uncover the whole wizarding world?"

"Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy." She winked and jumped gracefully off the the desk. She went past the frozen man, patting his chest sympathetically. "You're a clever one. You'll know what the right thing to do is." She marched out of the office, her arctic fox elegantly trotting behind her.

Mycroft was left alone with his dæmon. He hid his face in his hands.

* * *

A loud slap echoed in the room when Molly's hand hit Mycroft's face.

"Do people's lives mean nothing to you? Are you so cold-hearted that you'll let people die just so we could keep a damn stupid secret?" she seethed. "You are no better than her."

Sherlock's jaguar growed loudly at Sophia, her eyes squinted and tail moving side to side in preparation to attack. Before she could jump and push down the black raven Sherlock grabbed her neck and held her back.

His expression was similar to the panther's. "I thought you'd learn from the last time. You're supposed to be the smart one."

"Things are not always as simple as they look. You may be free from her manipulations but I am not. That's why she contacted me and not you. She can control me and I can control you. This is a game of power. Like it or not, Sherlock, my hands are bound." Mycroft's face didn't betray any of the emotional turmoil that was raging inside him.

"What happens now that we know?" Apollon asked, hardly seen from between the creases of Molly's scarf.

"We have a limited amount of time before Irene finds out about this," Sherlock said, still glaring at his brother. "We must get to her before she reaches us. Do you have her location?" The question was asked from Sophia who, like Sherlock knew from his experiences, was directly in contact with the dæmons of Mycroft's surveillance team.

"She's in Belgravia."

"At the same place?"

"Yes."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "She isn't even trying to hide."

"Who has she got to hide from?" Mycroft huffed.

"No one. Not when you let her run around like she owns everything," Molly fumed. She was a muggleborn witch so she had always felt the injustice when she still lived with other wizards. Now that Irene Adler was prancing around with her Death Eaters, killing people, she was sure that any witch or wizard without a pureblood heritage will suffer.

Having had enough of Mycroft's bitter face she walked out of the room, leaving Sherlock to face his brother.

"Your girlfriend sure is bothersome," Mycroft sneered.

Sherlock didn't bother to correct him. "You should see her with a wand. I'd really like to see your ass kicked by her." He followed where Molly had gone, throwing a last look in his direction. "You owe me."

He snapped the door shut after his dæmon.


	3. Chapter 3

221 Baker Street was quiet, nobody was home. Since John had moved out and only Mrs Hudson had stayed, unable to find new tenants, the silence had been deafening. The quietness had disappeared when Sherlock had returned from his two years of being dead, but at moments like these, when no one was around, the world seemed dead. Mrs Hudson wasn't home nearly as much as she used to be, not handling the pressing feeling of desertedness well. Right now, it was an advantage to Sherlock and Molly, who needed discretion, secrecy and speed to cover their way.

With as much accuracy as Sherlock could manage without years of practice, he apparated, with his companions, straight in front of the 221 Baker Street door. Even though he did not use magic anymore, he had had cast protective charms over the house, just in case, so now they had no other choice but to show themselves just for a second in front of the house and dash in as fast as they could. Door safely shut behind them, they let out a breath they did not know the were holding.

Sherlock's dæmon, overly familiar with the insides of the house, immediately started climbing the stairs to 221B, Sherlock himself not far behind her. Not wasting any time, Sherlock made his way through the kitchen to his bedroom, Molly slowly following them, Apollon hiding in her scarf. The man opened a drawer in his room and carefully lifted out his colour-coded socks and... underwear? Molly blushed and discreetly looked away. From under all that he took a small but long box, that could only be fitting one thing. His wand.

"Vine wood, phoenix feather core, 13 inches, hard and inflexible," he muttered to himself and opened the box, revealing a very long, black, minimalistically decorated wand, that lay peacefully on a velvet lining, waiting for its owner to pick it up again. Hesitantly Sherlock reached out his hand again, touching his wand for the first time in two years, since he had defeated Moriarty on St Bartholomew's rooftop. He breathed in as a slight tingle went through his spine and lifted it out of its resting place.

After the first tense moment of reuniting, Sherlock twirled the wand in his fingers and took a strong confident hold of the wood. The familiarity had not gone missing. The wand had always been Sherlock's extension of arm, its long sharp tip pointing in the exact direction he wanted, yielding to his every move, obedient, loyal. It had been his companion through the darkest times and now when what he loved was in danger again, he was forced to lend the help of it once more.

Molly loved her large blue and white handbag. Unashamedly she had used the Undetectable Extension Charm on it, keeping everything she needed right with her at all times. You could call it a woman's sense to never come unprepared for any kind of situation, Molly just loved her bag. Right now, however, it gave the pair the advantage of not having to make another trip to Molly's flat. She kept her wand by her side, even though she didn't use it. Not as flashy as Sherlock's, her 11 inch cherry wand with a dragon heartstring was good in its owns ways, suited to Molly's needs. Right now seeing Sherlock with his and gripping her own wand in her hand, Molly felt a sense of impending doom.

"I've always told you to use you wand, but right now... I wish we could just put it back in the bag and fly away from all this... shit," Apollon sighed, peeking out from Molly's scarf.

Sherlock shook his head and dived back in his sock drawer to pull out funny leather straps. "Irene Adler is a dangerous opponent. We must at least try to have some upper hand in this situation." He rolled up his left sleeve and started to fasten the straps around his arm. When he turned his arm slightly, Molly could see what they were for – a small sheath for his wand, so it would be within hand's reach when needed. It seemed he had made it longer on the inside so that it wouldn't be uncomfortable when holding the full length of his wand.

"Apollon is small, you can easily protect him," Sherlock said to Molly once he had rolled his sleeve back down. "If it comes down to fighting, I may not be able to shield Aria." His eyes glanced at the large black feline lying on the floor and he looked uncomfortable. "Could I ask you to have my back?"

Molly smiled sadly. "That goes without saying, Sherlock."

The man nodded gratefully. During the last fight on the rooftop he had been alone. He had felt the hole in his armour as Moriarty had continuously bombarded his weakest spot – Aria, his dæmon. She was a hard-to-miss target and the movement space of only a few feet radius of Sherlock limited her chances of being able to protect or hide herself. The last desperate jump towards Moriarty's dæmon had been what saved her. The criminal hadn't dared to shoot a curse so close to his soul and that moment of hesitation gave Aria the window to take on the terrifyingly large tarantula, while leaving Sherlock one-on-one with Moriarty. No doubt Irene had bodyguards as well, who were prepared to attack Aria full on. Having someone by his side at a moment like this had a great value in Sherlock's eyes and despite his usual "I work alone" attitude, he was immensely grateful for Molly's presence.

* * *

London's fancy district of Belgravia was minding its own regular business, when Sherlock and Molly arrived in front of one of the white grand houses. Immediately they were surrounded by two large men, clad in dark robes. Both were menacingly pointing their wands at the pair, their wolf and cheetah dæmons showing their lack of escape routes by quietly growling, forcing them to move fast inside the house. The door was open and Sherlock, who had visited the building before, placed a leading hand on the small of Molly's back, unintentionally letting her know of his supporting presence and helping her focus on the task at hand.

When they had gone inside, one of the men flicked his hand in the direction of the door on the left, motioning them to go in. Sherlock knew what to expect. The light room with the white furniture and a fireplace was hosting a lot more people now than back when he had dealt with the case Mycroft had presented him. Five figures dressed in black were standing in the room, strategically positioned to eliminate any way of fleeing, a woman in a red dress was sitting on a chair by the window, she and her bird dæmon paying no mind to the guests who entered, and of course the main reason they had gathered there was feeling comfortable in one of the armchairs, wearing a white floor-length dress with black lace-like embroidery, her arctic fox lying on the floor beside her.

Irene Adler gave them her signature smile and straightened herself in her chair. "Ah, Sherlock. How nice of you to come."

The man frowned and stepped slightly away from Molly, coincidentally shielding her from Irene's sight. His voice was sharp when he spoke: "Right now, Miss Adler, I'd very much like to skip all these niceties and ask "What the fuck?"" An amused murmur sounded in the room.

"Straight to business and no fun, are you? Has your girlfriend been too harsh?" She tilted herself slightly to wink at Molly. Neither she nor Sherlock felt like correcting her. "You know, darling, no villain nowadays takes their time to explain the protagonist what's going on, so that they could think up a brilliant escape plan and save the world. I simply don't understand what you want me to say."

"How about for starters you explain why are you doing this? What good can terrorising muggleborns possibly do you?"

The woman chuckled. "You've missed out a lot since you've dedicated your life to muggles. The mudbloods have invaded everywhere, claiming social justice, making us look like a bunch of bugs living under a rock. Even when we still went to school Slytherin, the only house to hold high the value of traditional wizarding families, was hated for solely the reason of us being purebloods and proud of it. Suddenly being a mudblood is in fashion and we are the bad guys. So what better to do than justifying that and doing a bit of cleanup?"

Molly laughed loudly, sounding as fake as she could. "So you admit that you're just feeling butthurt because suddenly everything doesn't evolve around you? That you're living in the past and to the rest of the world you seem like you've stepped out from the medieval period?"

"My my, the little girl has a voice!" Irene rose from her place and walked straight to her guests, heels clicking on the floor. "Even your dæmon is so small. Like your presence and your personality. I suggest you don't interfere with grownup topics you don't understand. You're making Sherlock embarrassed." She reached out to flick Apollon, uncaring of the taboo, but was stopped by Sherlock who grabbed her wrist.

Wands were drawn. Sherlock threw her arm aside and Irene stepped back, signalling the Death Eaters not to act. "Now look who's the conservative," she said, harshly, and walked back to her own dæmon, whose eyes had not once left Aria's. "I don't have a single regret of letting you walk away today as you can't do anything to stop me. I'll immensely enjoy watching you watch me destroy the things you love, helplessly. After all I can see everything you do or will ever do with the help of my lovely Aurora."

The woman by the window raised her eyes and looked long and hard at Sherlock and Molly. Molly was sure she had seen her before and her suspicions were confirmed once she smiled coldly at them. Aurora Fawcett had been a year younger than them at Hogwarts. The Gryffindor had been unnoticeable and the only reason Molly now remembered her was because she had a gift that the divination teacher Sybil Trelawney couldn't stop talking about: an incredible ability of clairvoyance. Every class they had together at the high tower the teacher made sure to make Aurora as uncomfortable as possible, no doubt because she felt threatened by the more powerful Seer. Barely recognizable now, Aurora had gained a new way of holding her plump body, confident and self-assured, the harmless bird dæmon giving a funny expression of being like a pet.

"I see you remember her." Irene laughed and made a shooing motion with her hand. "Leave now. I have a promise to keep to Mycroft." She turned her back to them and walked to Aurora, her dæmon finally breaking eye-contact with Aria, following her. The meeting had been short and to Molly's relief as uneventful as she could have hoped for. They had still time to act freely and not fight their way out.

* * *

Right after Sherlock pulled shut the cab door and gave his address to the driver, he turned all his attention to Aria. "Did you get it?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes. You should write it down." The panther was calm as usual as she sat on the car floor by Sherlock's thigh.

"Molly do you have a pen and a paper?"

"What is it? What is going on?" She reached her whole arm in her bag and pulled out a notebook with pictures of kittens and a pink glittery pen. Sherlock grabbed them an without explaining anything, started writing down what Aria told her, only...

"Short short short short. Stop. Short. Stop. Short long short short. Stop. Short long long short. Pause. Long short short short. Stop. Short long short. Stop. Long long long. Stop. Long. Stop. Short short short short. Stop. Short. Stop. Short long short. Pause. Short short short short. Stop. Short. Stop. Long short. Stop. Short long short. Stop. Long short long long. Pause. Long. Stop. Short long. Stop. Long short long. Stop. Short. Stop. Long short. Pause. −"

The sequence of longs and shorts and pauses and stops continued until Sherlock had everything written down and could start deciphering the message. Molly had caught up only as much as to deduce the code she was hearing.

"Morse? How? Why? Who? When?" She was even more confused than before but the detective just signalled her to be quiet.

When he was finished and cast his eyes properly over the now clear message, his eyes widened in understanding. "That explains my doubts."

"Sherlock, would you please take a moment to explain what is going on?"

The man looked at her, leaned over and started to talk quickly: "When Mycroft first said that we're dealing with Irene Adler, it was a little difficult for me to believe, but since all the evidence directed her way and she herself was in no hurry to prove otherwise to me, I had nothing to back up this gut feeling. This however," he waved with the notebook, "explains things. Irene is a selfish creature and even though she comes from a pureblood family, she has never before given a damn about the so called "purity of blood". All that matters to her is who is useful to her and who has the best connections. Her career and riches was built on that, she didn't pick clients by their family tree. So being the new Dark Lord is a bit out of character, don't you think?"

"So what you're trying to say is that after all that we saw there, she's innocent ? I'm sorry if I'm not particularly inclined to believe that..."

"Morse code is a clever muggle invention."

"And?"

Aria stepped in. "Sophokles caught my eye the minute we stepped in. By blinking he got this message across."

Molly shook her head, guessing that Sophokles was Irene's fox dæmon, still in a state of disbelief. "What does it say then?"

"It's a cry for help."

Sherlock handed her the notebook, where above the dots and dashes was scribbled the deciphering. Molly read it and read it again to make sure she understood it correctly.

Then she asked them: "What makes you believe that it's not a trick or a simple lie?"

Sherlock grinned at her, his fingers combing the hair on Aria's head. "Because there was something very wrong going on in that room..."


End file.
